Hey, I'm so sorry i haven't uploaded in ages, it's just my WiFi had been cancelled for 8 weeks and the only way to get it was walk to my nan's house, but me and her don't get along very well, and my computer was playing up and I smashed the touchscreen. I know it looks like I'm making excuses, and i promise I'll try and post more often now I'm able to post properly again.

Anyway, enough with the rant, I'd love it if you guys could send in some ideas to help with the plotline, I've got writers block and i don't have any ideas, all comments are appreciated. Thanks.

It was about half five when we headed back. Most people had gone and the fire had been put out by the heavy raining. My hair and clothes were soaked and my mascara was probably running too. There was water pooling in my boots and my fingers were starting to go numb. We were both probably going to suffer from hypothermia. Nico was soaked as well, and his hands burned into the skin at my waist, giving me only one source of warmth. We stumbled and tripped and skidded and slipped in large, muddy puddles and grazed ourselves on our hands and knees, all while laughing and managing to get out a few slurred words, and sometimes even a sentence. It was hard to concentrate on anything in particular since my vision was fuzzy and swaying and my head was spinning beyond control. I wasn't even sure of we were going the right way. All I could really hear was the rain and a couple of voices.

Fuck dude, ow!

Are I and you going home the right way?

…dizzy…

…so cold…

Crap

What about Jason?

…won't find out…

…sure?...

I dunno

…tell him that…

…that I got drugged?

…drink was spiked…

…the drink, get from where?

…found me in a bar… bought small one drink of…

…that guy with knife there?

What the fuck?!

I stared in horror at the guy I had seen before with the white hoody and the knife. Seeing his face was actually terrifying. So much in fact I remember screaming. His eyes were huge and black rimmed, black irises and as it appeared, no eyelids. His hair was jet black and messy, and in desperate need of cutting. His pale skin looked leathery, and I realised in horror…

He had been burned.

And what was worse…

He had given himself a Chelsea smile.

Jesus fucking Christ. He had actually cut a permanent smile into his face. It had healed, but still looked shredded and raw.

All I could do was stand there, staring. I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, I didn't even want to breathe, for the fear he would lash out if I did. I blinked one eye at a time, not giving him any opportunity to take me by surprise. I felt sick, and I could hear my heart pounding in my chest, like it was trying to break its way through and run. I could feel my stomach knotting itself up. It was like all my insides were crawling up together on one big ball and crushing themselves out of existence.

I didn't move. Nico didn't move. He didn't move. No one moved. It was as if we were all statues, the eerie silence solidifying us. My mind was racing with thoughts I never thought I'd have to think.

At least I won't be there when the find the stash of drugs.

At least now they can't bust me for the warehouse incident.

At least Luke will have an advantage not having to wait for me. He can just run and be over with it.

Because I'm going to die.

The nausea in my stomach was almost painful. My thoughts were racing.

Just walk away and go home.

But you can't. Because he's going to kill you.

Just stab him with a knife.

But you can't. Because he has the knife. Because you don't have one. And because he's so much stronger than you.

Just make Nico kill him.

But you can't. Because he's not going to do it.

Just distract him with Nico and run away.

But you can't. Because he's going to come after me too. He'll follow me home and kill Jason too.

Just call-

But you can't! You fucking can't because he's right there and he's going to kill you if you move or if you breathe or blink or anything so just stay the fuck there and don't move, don't blink, don't breathe and wait for someone to come help you at this god-awful hour of the morning so they can bust you for doing drugs and for vandalising warehouses.

I could feel the bile rising in my throat. My hands were shaking. My lungs were burning for air, but I only allowed them a little, making sure to make next to no sound as the rain hammered down on my thin shirt, pasting it to my skin like super-glue. My jeans were also plastered to my legs and my boots were heavy with the weight of the water. Aw shit, these were my best pair of Doc Martens. I wished that was the height of my concerns.

The beat of my heart hurt in my chest, and I couldn't breathe anymore. I couldn't believe it. It had to be this moment I had a panic attack? Out of all the moments it could have been, Satan chose to punish me now?

Out of the corner of my eye though, I saw it. The thing I knew would help. Would make everything better. They were hiding behind a brick wall, holding a hand grenade… I couldn't see who it was.

My eyes flickered back to the man, then back to the person holding the hand grenade and back again. The next few moments seemed to happen so quickly.

The man with the knife charged.

The person with the grenade threw it.

Everything seemed to be in flames. Burning.

Some kind of alarm seemed to be going off.

There was a knocking sound on the door and someone calling my name.

The air was hot and thick, and when I peeled my eyes slowly open, it seemed to be a dark grey. Realisation set in, and I realised it was smoke. Thick, dark smoke. I couldn't see the door, or the smoke, and since I had stood up and been walking round, I couldn't see my bed either, so there was no way I could indicate where anything was. I felt my way along the walls, stumbling round the room, looking for the door. My fingers ran over something smooth and brittle, and it seemed to be heating up fast. I guess the window was better than nothing.

I felt around for the handle to open it, but instead found a piece of paper. It had thick, messy writing on it, though I couldn't read it, so instead slipped it inside my pocket. My fingers continued to fumble for the handle. Oddly, my hand seemed to pass through a certain part of the glass. Finally, a way out! I fitted my other arm through, but it caught something, slicing it open and covering it on blood.

I hadn't opened the window.

It had been broken into.